Exit, Stage Left
by Selene Sokal
Summary: In Vale's thriving theatre scene, decadence and propriety are perpetually intertwined as gossipmongers snoop and pry to find the next big scandal to move papers. Fortunately, there are no secrets in Rory Rose's past that could spoil her, er, "his" meteoric rise. 19th Century Literary AU
1. The Portrait of Rory Rose

Jaune was seated at The Elusive Peach one of Vale's fashionable, but not too fashionable, cafés, struggling to seem calm and unperturbed in the unseasonable heat. The food was… acceptable, but that's not why you ate at the Peach. It was a place to be seen, not because you were rich and trendy, like you might at Port's, but to be seen being _authentic_. And that's why he was seated at the least comfortable booth, the one that was always in the stuffiest corner of the floor, because it was the one where everyone could see you, but not so well that it looked like you wanted everyone to see you.

He was well aware of the irony of being in place staged to be seen being authentic, but he was an actor. His whole life was staged. And he was here for a very significant lunch meeting—perhaps one of the most significant in his extraordinary career. He glanced at the script in front of him, _The Marquess Suffices_ it proclaimed in bold script, and, in smaller, but no less significant letters beneath, boasted, "Rory Rose." And now he was waiting to meet with Mr. Rose to discuss how this script would put them both in the canon for all time.

As he was tracing his finger under the name, the man himself practically burst through the door as he rushed over, rushing about was practically his trademark now, to their usual booth. "I'm so sorry I'm late, I meant to-"

Jaune held up a hand to silence him and wave off his concerns. "Don't worry about it. Didn't you know it's fashionable to be late now? Tells the world that you're a busy person with a lot to do, not like one of those idle rich."

He crossed his arms in a huff. "Well, I still feel bad about it."

"Well, now your apology is getting in the way of letting us order lunch, so perhaps feel bad about that first."

He almost had to laugh as Rory turned bright red and then stammered out his order to the waitress. He was, to the world, arguably Vale's greatest living wordsmith, but to those who truly knew him, he was a sensitive, socially awkward young man who often spoke faster than he could think. But it was that mess of contradictions that made him brilliant.

Jaune had been working with Rory since he first broke onto the scene, back when Jaune was a struggling actor trying to move past understudy in a grimy "theatre" in one of Vale's dingiest back alleys. But if he was a nobody, Rory was somehow less than that—a boy with no history or family or money, nothing more than a tattered script he kept hidden in a small box in the crowded lodgings they shared. That was how they met, sharing arguably the cheapest, dirtiest, somehow hottest and coldest, sometimes at the same time, room in Vale. He was shy, and, judging from how flimsy and poorly delivered his personal history was when asked, had a past he clearly didn't want to talk about. But Jaune was nothing if not a gregarious person, who was happy to take the kid under his wing and help him find his feet in the big city. Of course, once Rory learned that Jaune was an actor, he instantly latched on to that fact and immediately wanted to know everything he could.

But then he showed Jaune his script, _Salem_, a tragedy about the mythical witch. What Jaune had thought he would just politely read and give some helpful pointers for a beginner turned out to be the most enthralling thing he'd read all year. He immediately realized that Rory didn't need pointers, certainly not from a glorified stagehand, he needed a production. And while Jaune didn't have any money or contacts, he did know the basics of the theatre business, and did what he could to put _Salem_ together. It took a forged letter of introduction to get a meeting with old Ozpin and all his bravado to sell himself and Rory as something more than two street urchins with dreams, but, likely more on the strength of Rory's script, by the end of their meeting, they had won him over. By the end of the day, they had a script, a stage, and a director.

By the end of the year, they were the two biggest names in Valean theatre. Jaune had played King Ozma opposite no less than Coco Adel as Queen Salem, and they closed out night after night of sold out shows to adoring crowds. Rory followed it up with _A Gentleman of Vacuo_, a comedy that Jaune had also starred in, which confirmed the both of them as more than just up-and-comers. The plays that followed had made them rich and famous and, above all, respected. He may not have been a war hero like his celebrated grandfather, but Jaune Arc had, in a single night, brought no less than the Queen of Vale to both laughter _and_ tears, and had a personal letter from her to prove it.

But this newest play… just holding it in his hands, it seemed to almost tremble with potential. It was dressed as a bawdy farce, the story of a man who disguises himself as a woman to win his love's favor, but it used farce as a tool as it slipped through witty comedy and profound drama. He knew he would leave them rolling with laughter at his slapstick chops in one scene, then slide neatly into a monologue about truth, love, and identity. Rory's dialogue tied together all of Vale's literary history, making it like a keystone text that would be read and performed for centuries to come. And he knew that there would be, in every printing from here to the end of time, a mention of Jaune Arc as the lead in the original cast.

But they had to make it happen first. He watched as Rory fixed his hot chocolate—one of his boyish mannerisms that Jaune found endlessly charming—then cleared throat and began. "It's gold Rory, the script's perfect. But you knew that already and don't need me to tell you that."

"Really? You don't think-"

He waved off Rory's concerns. "Things will change as we put it to stage, but what I have in my hands is more than enough to get the ball rolling! What we need to start talking about is how to take fundraising seriously, and make sure that we have the money to do this right."

"I thought you were talking to Pyrrha," he said, with what sounded like a hint of bitterness. Not that he blamed him; if their places were reversed, he'd probably despise the kid's good fortune. Miss Pyrrha Nikos was a wealthy Mistralian expatriate, partially rich from her late father's money, and socially speaking, that was where all her income came from. But, in truth, she made her money as a devastatingly shrewd investor. Which was how they knew her, she had helped finance their early productions and had reaped the reward alongside them. Beautiful, exotic, and seeming to live above Valean social customs about the appropriate behaviors of unmarried women, he could understand Rory's jealousy that he got to spend so much time alone with her, which his friend immediately confirmed. "She seems to really like spending a lot of time with you. Is she…"

"I wish," he smiled, ruefully, "Women of her status might enjoy the company of men like me, but they don't _marry_ them. Too scandalous, I'm afraid. Still, _she_ wants to pretend she might tempt scandal, and _we_ want her money, so it's a good arrangement for the both of us. But if what I'm hearing is true, we've got serious interest from none other than _Weiss Schnee_, and that could make a _real_ difference for our careers. Pyrrha's been real generous to us, but Weiss is a duchess—that opens doors." He glanced to Rory. Here comes the hard part. "Have dinner with her, read a little of what you've got here," he thumbed through the script, "and promise to put her name in big letters under the title, and we've got our show."

Rory fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. "You're a lot… better with asking for money. I was hoping… you would do it?"

Jaune waved away those damnable puppy dog eyes and laughed. "Not a great idea. She… does not like me. Very much does not like me. And I don't blame her. She likes… sincere. She likes earnest. She'll like you."

"You're earnest!"

He chuckled, "Aww, isn't that sweet of you to say. But for the rest of the population, when you make your money pretending to be someone you're not, they tend to suspect that maybe you're good at it. But you're Rory Rose, and she wants to meet Rory Rose. And she is absolutely not someone we can turn down on that."

He threw up his hands. "Fine, I'll talk with her. But if it's a disaster, it's your fault."

"They've all been so far," he joked back.

They ate their lunch together talking about the play, discussing character motivations, possible changes, and who they might want to work with. It was a productive meeting, but Jaune felt that the script alone was still doing most of the work. As much as Rory never believed it when he said it, Jaune knew that it was brilliant. _Rory_ was brilliant.

Before he left, he turned back to his friend with a grin. "Believe me, once we get this to opening night, the name 'Rory Rose' will truly belong to history."

* * *

Rory Rose.

What was "Rory Rose?"

A name, yes, a name stamped on scripts and marquees and hanging on the lips of every member of Vale's literati. A name given when the latest _bon mot_ was related, cited when asked about what's new, proudly proclaimed in the broadsheets with every new show. A name that meant culture, excitement, the _now_. One, evidently, belonging to history, if all went as planned.

It was also a story. Where a young man lacked history, stories were always present to substitute. And there were many stories: the disgraced heir of an Atlesian count, the peasant boy with burning ambitions, the bastard son of the celebrated playwright of the prior age. These were costumes, to be put on and cast off as needed, but they were all, undeniably Rory Rose.

But what about the flesh and blood, the heart now thudding as if to burst? Was that Rory Rose?

No. No, it wasn't.

Ruby slouched into the booth miserably, painfully aware of friction it made with the tight cloth binding her breasts as she did. In a city that adored him, she alone had no love of Rory Rose. It felt like she hated him more every day, the stalking horse who lived the high life of a celebrity on her work. Yes, she knew that he was her and she was him, but it felt like there was a woman and a ghost—or maybe that was vice-versa?—and only one of them reaped the benefits.

Lunch had only made that more painfully apparent. She had two loves, and like all in that unhappy situation, those loves were at war with one another. The first was the theatre, the second had just left the café. Women would not get their works performed in respectable society. Jaune would not love a man. She had made up her mind long ago which she loved more, but it made it no less painful to spend so much time with her beloved, being heaped with praise by him, and knowing that there was no future in it. He had always been her most enthusiastic supporter, the first to tell her that she had real talent. And then he had pulled every trick in the book just to secure her a meeting, and, well… ever since then, he was her friend, her collaborator, her muse, her everything-with-one-exception.

She would fantasize, of course, about the idea, of revealing her secret, her true self, to him. But she knew that if she were to have him, she couldn't have him in halves. She couldn't stand to be only his lover in secret, and even is she could, soon enough, terrible scandal would fall on them both. And that assumed he _wanted _her, that he wouldn't be disgusted to learn that he'd been misled for so long. Or perhaps his image of "Rory Rose" was so well made that this revelation would crack the whole foundation of their relationship, and she'd be left adrift, with neither love.

If she _were_ a man, she'd punch the wall right now. She'd fly into a passionate rage that would leave the gossip sheets talking for days, speculating on what loss or love or betrayal would set such an artistic soul into such a mood! They'd love it, and she'd love the opportunity to really cut loose, but… her anger always felt fake when she was Rory. It always felt off, like she wasn't doing the role right.

Resigned, she slunk away from the café and headed back home.

It wasn't a long walk. She lived modestly, in a cheaper neighborhood, without much of the frills of luxury or a staff. The latter was to maintain her secrets, but the former was as well. Nobody suspected the unassuming, defenseless place to be concealing something. The wealthy locked their doors to protect their riches and hide their secrets. Her home could be so easily burgled, it was obvious there was nothing to protect. The gossip sheets presumed it was some kind of artistic austerity, the tormented soul who contented himself with writing alone. She could live with that.

But as she entered her study, she realized that she wasn't alone, though she neither heard nor saw the intruder. She knew what was happening, though, and she wasn't in the mood for it. "I already made my donation this month, Blake, I don't need-"

"It's not about money, Ruby," came a soft voice as a dark haired girl seemed to materialize out of the shadows. "And you know I would never demand you do anything unwillingly—I'm _not_ a blackmailer. If you didn't want to support the cause, I would respect that."

"Yeah, well, maybe I just don't want to find out if you would or wouldn't, okay?" She was already annoyed and wanted to just take a night in, thinking out some of the notes Jaune had given her. But, of course, it would be _impolite_ to kick out the terrorist she was quietly bankrolling to keep her secret.

"I wouldn't!" At that, Blake's usually cool demeanor cracked. "Ruby, I know our relationship is… unusual, but I've always considered you a friend." There was some truth in that, as loath as Ruby was to admit it. Blake had discovered her identity, being the one woman _not_ seeking out secrets or riches, but to make contact with what she had thought would be a sympathetic ear. And Ruby, in a panic, had tried to pay her off. But something about her plight had moved Blake to pledge she would keep her secret, and, in gratitude, Ruby had paid her off anyways, in voluntary, secret donations to the radical Faunus revolutionary group she worked for, the White Fang. Which had looped them back to the beginning, but Blake couldn't refuse the money, especially as much as the White Fang needed financial support. Ever since then, they'd been… not what would be considered normal friends, but the one person Ruby could talk to as Ruby. And so she'd become her closest and only confidant, while also being her liaison to the world of nationalism, political intrigue, and terrorism. She'd even, after half a bottle of wine, told her about Jaune.

It was a confusing relationship that, at times, felt like a real friendship and, right now, felt dangerous. But Blake's voice was calm, pleasant, even almost disarming as she made her request. "I'm here to ask you to advocate that a Faunus gets cast in your upcoming show."

Ruby started at that. "What! But you told me _not_ to push on it with my _last _show!" _A Peculiar Matter_ had a Faunus character, a parody of the stage-Faunus archetype that had always disgusted Ruby. She had meant to advocate for the show to have the first Faunus actor on a major Valean stage, but Blake had instructed her not to push the issue. As a result, she felt stupid while watching a human in a pair of donkey ears strut about the stage as she was lauded, by humans, of course, for her "commitment" to progressive causes. How heroic of her.

"There's been… a change in leadership with the White Fang, and that's led to some changes in our plans. We're not asking you to dig your heels in; just make it clear that you're demanding this, we'll leak it to the press, and that's all."

"So when the company refuses, you now have cause to protest my work? Or will you have a _real_ bomb this time?"

"Ruby!" Blake looked genuinely hurt with her remark, and Ruby felt bad before she reminded herself that she was talking to an unapologetic terrorist. "I promise you, this isn't to hurt you _or_ your show. I promise! We just need to get people talking, and we felt that…" she trailed off, then looked away from Ruby, biting her lip. "We know you're looking to Weiss Schnee for patronage. She's a major figure—and that's an opportunity we can't lose."

_That_ name again. Ruby threw up her hands. "Alright, fine, whatever. I'll do what you want and there won't be any problems, got it," she spat. "Now can I get back to work?"

"I… also have another reason for being here." Her face grew nervous, but the nervousness that comes from good news, where her lips are tight to keep all the words from spilling out. "I have a message from your sister." Ruby froze at that. She hadn't heard from Yang in years—she had started to, in the back of her head, prepare herself for inevitably accepting that she had died, in some far-off, miserable corner of Remnant. How did Blake know- no, not worth it. She tried not to look too desperate and pleading, but she knew it was a futile gesture. "She wants you to know she's well, she's working in Menagerie, now, with us, actually," she smiled at that, not the victorious smile of picking up a useful ally, but an effervescent personal fondness that made Ruby uneasy. "And she wanted me to tell you that…" she trailed off.

Ruby couldn't contain herself. "What? What did she want you to say!"

"Well… we're… dating." She smiled at that, beamed, really, but to Ruby, it felt like a gunshot. Oblivious, she laughed, "I swear, I had no idea that you were related when I-"

"Get out."

Blake was stunned. "What? Ruby, I-"

"Get out, Blake. Get out. Get out of my house!" She pointed to the door with such fury in her eyes that Blake clearly thought better of fighting her on it. As she exited, Ruby felt the hot tears spring to her eyes as years of suppressed anger boiled right back up.

Of course. Of course Yang's "important work," what she had _abandoned_ Ruby to do, of course she had time to date. Of course she had time to date _her blackmailer_, who had the _audacity_ to pretend that they were friends. Who had manipulated Ruby every step of the way, wheedling her secrets, her fears out of her, the _idiot_ that she was, to think that maybe she could trust Blake.

Did they have a good laugh about her? Yang's confused, cross-dressing sister? Struggling to keep her secret in a world that would tear her to pieces if she was ever found out? Stupid Ruby Rose, thinking she could pretend to be a man to make it on her own, when she could just be a mercenary or a terrorist if she wasn't so _weak_. If she didn't have so many _feelings_ she could just toughen up and not get left behind with her books and her stories.

Now the tears were flowing freely, tears of anger and sadness, tears from the same wellspring that had started so many years earlier when Yang first left her behind in Patch to seek her fortune. Well, she'd found it, hadn't she? Yang was happy and free, doing whatever she wanted without having to worry about anything, while she was at the very peak of her career and yet spent every day in lonely isolation, gripped by the wrenching terror that it would all come tumbling down around her!

So Ruby did what she did every time the fury and grief seized at her, when it felt like her whole self was poised to be torn apart.

She wrote.


	2. The Playboy of the Valean World

He had never realized how much work it took to live the life of the celebrity rake.

When he was younger, all he knew about it was the endless parties, the scandalous affairs with beautiful women, the sense of walking in a room and everyone knowing your name. He hadn't realized that the parties was where business was _really_ conducted, that the affairs were all too often joyless, tedious things, that made you _pray_ for monogamy, and everyone knowing your name meant you were never not performing. He knew not to complain too much—the celebrity life was far preferable to how he started his career—but it still grated.

And the few things he did enjoy, of course, were interrupted by work. He had received a note the day before from Cinder Fall, publisher of _The Inquest_, a fishpaper rag that was damn good at ruining his day, that she wanted a meeting. He could be in bed right now, with one of the most beautiful women in Remnant, discussing Mistralian poetry over breakfast. Pyrrha was… remarkable, he had to admit. More than just money and looks, she seemed to be blessed with just about everything. She was witty, insightful, kind…

But perhaps it was better that he was interrupted. He sighed, as he walked to the building that housed _The Inquest's_ offices. It was easy to get lost in delusions around Pyrrha, and, when it came to misdirection, he much preferred keeping it the other way round. He knew full well that in this life, there was always a darker truth lurking beneath the veneer. It wasn't just her lady's maid Nora being ever present, to remind him of… things. No, it was what he told Rory the other day over lunch. He knew it as unshakeable fact that the wealthy were not like the rest of their race. Not in some pious nobility or other great virtue they puffed themselves up over. He and Rory certainly lampooned that belief enough.

No, it was in cruelty. Cruelty was the difference. It was the casual, accidental cruelty that came from a lifetime of ease. Their whims and caprices, done with no malice, but also no awareness of what life was like for those who lived more precariously. To fall in love with someone of Pyrrha's class… no matter what she said, no matter how _deeply_ he believed her… at the end of the day, they were only words. He was a fling, a trophy, a diversion. Words of marriage, of devotion… if he wanted to believe them, he would have no one to blame but himself when they crumbled.

That cynicism would help him now, he figured, as he entered the office of Cinder Fall.

Crowded, you'd almost think it was messy if you weren't certain that every single scrap of paper and note was exactly where she intended it to be. Cinder was something, alright. Beautiful, daring, quite possibly the most cunning woman in the whole city—but just like with Pyrrha, whatever he saw on the outside was just a distraction. With Pyrrha, it was the accidental cruelty of privilege. But with Cinder, it was pure, deliberate malice.

She looked to him with a smile that did little to conceal her shark's teeth. "Why, Jaune, so good to see you got my message. We're working on a story and we wanted to reach out to you for a quote."

Jaune laughed. Yes, of course, a "quote." As in, the estimated cost of keeping the story out of the papers. "Well, let me hear it, Cinder. I know I've kept my nose clean recently, and your speculations about myself and Ms. Nikos is well past yesterday's news, but if you're looking to keep that old thing going, I wouldn't stop you. I actually happened to run in to Ms. Nikos the other day, and seems she finds the attention rather flattering."

"Oh, it's not about you, it's about your associate, Mr. Rose."

He froze at the name. Rory didn't, well, Rory didn't do _anything_ off the straight and narrow. He had never been the problem, which meant Jaune was able to spin that reaction as honest surprise. "Come on, now, Cinder! We both know he's far too straight laced to have any _real_ dirt_._ Vices would get in the way of hiding in his study and writing a hundred pages of notes on how I'm getting his characters wrong."

"Perhaps not a vice, but a virtue. Charity, you might call it." Her style was circumspect and evasive, she was clearly trying to unnerve him. Well, Jaune Arc didn't get to the top of the theatre scene by being a poor actor, he put on a face of bored annoyance, reflecting his confidence that there was nothing to be found. "We have a suspicion that Mr. Arc's been financing the White Fang, perhaps for-"

At that, the laughter that burst out of him was genuine. "Rory and the _Fang?_ Cinder, if you're just fishing, I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time. You yourself reported on a bomb plot to kill him over _A Peculiar Matter_, and believe me, we were both taking that report very seriously. If you'd want a quote from me, please do include my incredulous laughter—it'll help your readers know exactly how to respond to the story."

"Alright, alright," she grumbled, "No need to be smug."

"Fair enough," On that, she was right. She had made a rare miscalculation, but Cinder was dangerous. She had to be held at arm's length, but making an enemy of her was a foolish mistake. Besides, he could afford to be generous—he was riding high on the promise of this new show, and throwing Cinder a bone could help promote it. "If you _do_ need a story, and you didn't hear this from me, but Rory is having a private dinner with Weiss Schnee tonight."

She nodded at that. "Well, we'll see if that might have something to it. Oh, and one more thing," Jaune rolled his eyes, waiting to hear what she had now. "If I mentioned the name, 'Lie Ren,' would you, perhaps, happen to know about it?"

If she was expecting him to flinch, she must have not thought much of his acting talent. "Lie Ren… Lie Ren…" he mulled the words out loud. "Can't say I know a Lie Ren. Mistralian name, right? An associate of Pyrrha's perhaps? Her salon always has the most eclectic cast of-"

"Alright, alright, I get it. You can play coy. But don't think you've gotten one past me—I received quite the tip about you and this Mr. Ren. Might want to take some time, think about who would know enough to talk."

An unnerving thought, but he knew the game well enough not to fall for the trick. As he made his goodbyes and departed her office, he reminded himself not to give in to the urge to follow that advice. She wanted him to get nervous, check with the contacts who might know, and, in doing so, tip her off who those were.

Lie Ren… seemed he was thinking about that name more and more every day, like the universe wanted to remind him. Or perhaps it was his mind making the connection between then and now. And, as he hailed a cab to take him to lunch with Rory, he thought he had an inkling why.

* * *

She was jittery, but she was always jittery as she watched a work take form. Some of it was always from how much sugar she'd eaten, retreating into cookies and sweets to comfort her nervousness. But so much of it came from the sheer electrical _jolt_ of going from imagination to the page. The infinite potential in her brain cooling and coalescing into something real—usually something wrong, something that had to be re-written, but that was just part of the process, and it had its own electricity.

And, of course, some of it came from the man who had just entered the room. "Fashionably late?" she asked, the butterflies in her stomach coming into a surge as she anticipated the many long hours they'd be spending together, seeing him in top form as they put their minds together and create something truly singular.

Of course, Jaune didn't share _that _interest. "Sorry Rory, this one was business. Had to quash a story at _The Inquest_—don't worry about it, took care of it. But I do think we should keep an eye open; she likely has someone following us."

"What'd you do this time?" she grumbled, already annoyed that they'd have to quash some rumors right as the show was coming together.

He shrugged, idly, though with the faked nonchalance she knew to be stagecraft. "Nothing to worry yourself about. Cinder's getting cocky, came at me unprepared. I do think we should offer her access to the production, show that there are no hard feelings. She's certainly done good work for my career."

"Alright, well, just keep your nose clean," and she had hoped this would be a good meeting, "I wanted to go over some of the notes I sent you-"

"Notes? Already?"

A small jolt came with that as her mood sloped further down. "So you… haven't seen the notes. I had a messenger deliver it straight to your residence last night. Left them with your housekeeper." But she already knew what it meant before he answered.

"Ah, well, I admit, I haven't been home yet," he answered, a suppressed smile breaking over his face.

"Long night?" she asked, sarcastically.

"Paid off in spades. Let's just say we have Pyrrha's… _enthusiastic_ support." Her blood curdled at that name, imagining the two of them… It made her furious to know that _that woman_ got what Ruby wanted so badly, as- as- as a casual fling! Just another _fashionable_ man to drape herself on. Unsurprisingly, Jaune could read the anger on her face, but, of course, misinterpreted her meaning. "Hey, hey, hey! I'll spare you the details, but come on, I just set you up for dinner with a beautiful young _duchess_ who is _very much interested in you_. Not in the. 'Oh, I want to show how _fashionable_ I am with this artist fluttering about me,' but in the 'Only _you_ truly understand my feelings!' way! Use my guidance, and you'll have a _very_ good night of your own."

Really? This was the man she entrusted her writing with? To understand the meaning of words coldly stamped on the page and brought to life under his insight?

This man?

Jaune's obliviousness aside, he had brought up a matter she knew she had to discuss. "So, speaking of… the duchess, what… what do I _do?_"

Jaune looked at her as though she was the oblivious one. "Rory, you've met with investors before. Explain the show, walk her though the concept like she's an idiot who can't know she's an idiot. You know," his teasing smile broke out into the light, the kind that always made Ruby's heart beat faster, "that way you explain it to _me_. Then give her the numbers we've been talking about, but that part doesn't matter—just think like you're one of those charming rakes you're always writing. I mean, you've written too much charming flirtation for me to believe you're truly helpless at it."

But she was. She _extremely_ was.

"Also…" she steeled her courage, "I want to push for a Faunus in the cast."

He sighed, but she could already see him measuring his words. "Rory, I'll back you up if you want to make the push, but we've already gotten enough attention from the White Fang from the last show, do we _really_ want to-"

"It's important, Jaune! "

He drummed his fingers on the table, clearly hard at thought. Ruby was always the more idealistic of the pair, but at the same time, she knew he would have her back on this. Even if it took him a while to admit it. "Well… Maybe this is a two birds, one stone situation… If it's something you want to throw your weight behind, you're going to want to make sure you've got _real_ weight to throw around. And you've got a solution right here: Weiss Schnee. If she puts her tacit support behind the move, you'll probably win."

His suggestion was as reasonable as it was unpleasant. Everything was now riding on earning this woman's favor—and worst case scenario, she probably would the _last_ person receptive to hearing about the plight of the Faunus. Which meant that if she really wanted to do this, it would demand compromises. Probably ugly ones. Writing scenarios where a character was caught between their ideals and their pragmatism was one thing, living such a scenario wasn't something she particularly relished.

"I'll give it a shot," she grumbled.

"You're going to win her over," Jaune replied with a roguish grin, "Believe me, by the end of the evening, you'll be thanking me for making you do this."

That, she highly doubted. But still, there were other concerns on her mind. "So… do you think I'm doing the right thing? With the Faunus, I mean?"

He smiled, and suddenly, she felt a whole lot better about everything. "I really thought we could have done it with the last show. There's even actually a few people I was thinking might be good for this—though they're going to need some assurances before they'll risk sticking their necks out. But get Schnee support and just tell me you're not thinking of casting Sun Wukong, and we're good."

"Oh, I don't know if I want to hear about that," she groaned, "is there some bad blood here, or…"

"No," he joked, "he's just a damn good actor, and I'm worried he'll steal my thunder!"

* * *

She was shocked by how _young_ she was.

No, that wasn't right—she was shocked by how _youthful_ the woman was. She knew Duchess Schnee was only a little older than she was, the same age as Jaune, but she assumed that someone who held the title "Duchess" would be, by the weight of the name alone, aged into something stiffer and more formal than youth would allow. But while she was stiff and formal, as Ruby had been made rather aware of (and her own inherent informality) throughout dinner, she was also undeniably girlish. A contradiction, it seemed, almost like one of her own characters—and with that thought, she was off to the races, imagining the bits and pieces of her life and how to arrange them on stage. A bad habit of hers, and one she certainly wouldn't admit to.

She tried to bring herself back to reality, listening politely as the duchess complimented their most recent production, how bold it was and all the other compliments she had grown so used to politely listening to. And yet, she couldn't really come "back" to reality. Not with this woman. There was no "reality" to be found here, as she sat and talked with someone who could almost certainly trace her lineage to the Mistralian Invasion and made regular social calls to the Royal Family. But Ruby prided herself on her ability to read people—it's what made her career, really—even people who seemed as strange and alien as the one before her now.

Looking at the duchess, she saw something rare: she was interesting. No, not for her family name or status, she seemed like something other than the usual nobility Ruby had learned to flatter. It was that girlishness, the way that little hints of her personality seemed to creep in behind the stoic façade of her title. The way her eyes would sparkle or soften when she talked about seeing the production, or how she'd catch herself drumming her fingers on the table—surely a bad habit she hadn't quite stamped out. She was also, as Jaune had told her… very attractive, flawless, really, like a living statue carved from ice. But that gave her an uncomfortable reminder of Jaune's implications on what she should strive to get from this exchange. But even more so, something about her made Ruby feel insecure about her own looks even if she was disguised as a man.

But the compliments and questions came to an end. Now it was Ruby's turn to speak, and that insecurity only seemed to magnify. As she explained, through nervous, jittery babbling, the plot and themes of _The Marquess Suffices_, she was very well aware how piercingly blue her eyes were, attentively watching her every move. Nerve wracking, really, but the bigger issue was how she seemed to be so… interested in everything she was saying. Ruby was used to making pitches to tedious financiers and the idle wealthy who sought to seem sophisticated, but were fundamentally bewildered by the concept of "narrative." But this woman… it wasn't fawning adoration or pretend sophistication, but something more like what she saw when… when she talked to Jaune. An appreciation, born out of an understanding, with the slightest tinge of jealousy, that grasped what she was looking to achieve and saw that she was achieving it. The kind that seemed to build her confidence, that revealed that her gaze wasn't the terrible glare of a spotlight's scrutiny, but something warmer and inviting.

"Marvelous," she said as Ruby finished, "it sounds simply marvelous." Her tone was wistful, far away, like she was imagining the production in her own mind's eye. And it had that note of envy, something Ruby still had no idea how to interpret, that subtle sense of jealousy that she could produce something they couldn't.

But Jaune was counting on her to close the deal, not assess the mind of the wealthy and titled. "Well, thank you, ma'am," she said with a grateful nod, "But to make it happen, we need your help. I have," she pulled out a sheaf of papers, "a preliminary budget for how much it might cost to-"

But Duchess Schnee cut her off with a wave of her hand. "I'll have my people settle the details; I find it tedious to quibble over money. I'm wholly committed to funding the piece as you think is necessary."

"Oh." Suddenly, she was at a loss for words. She'd mostly planned around needing to sell her on the financing. It was really all she had prepared for, talking about anticipated returns and how they'd advertise her name. What else was there to- And then she realized that this was what Jaune was talking about. The… other aspect of financing. The aspect she hadn't prepared for. The one that, if it came to it, she literally couldn't deliver on.

She had really thought it was really all just empty talk and quiet boasting. Had Jaune really done this for _all_ their shows? She had to be careful in this. "Well, thank you ma'am, thank you very much. You won't be disappointed in this and-"

And then the duchess placed her hand on Ruby's, which sent her into a full-on panic. "I… asked you to come here for another reason, something other than money." And with that, she took a deep breath and looked into Ruby's terrified eyes with a look of pure _hopefulness._ "I think you might actually… understand me."

Oh! Well… Oh. She hadn't expected that. "And, um… why is that?" she asked, lamely.

But the duchess had something she wanted to say and launched right into it. "Your work is… you're not fooled by us. Not by any of us. All our trappings and possessions, all our long family histories—you see right through it."

She wasn't quite sure what to say to that. She had the distinct feeling that there was something the duchess _wanted_ her to say, something witty and insightful, but not the sharp jab or incisive comment. Something… understanding, to use her word, though Ruby wasn't sure it fit. Comprehension, that was what she wanted. She wanted someone else who saw what she saw, who could grasp her world and describe what she beheld. But could she, who barely comprehended her own world, really do that for someone else? She looked at the duchess apprehensively.

She seemed to pick up her uncertainty. "I live in a fictional world. I am surrounded by flatterers and schemers, and even those I trust most, those closest to me… Mr. Rose, I pay their salaries. I... I can't ask them to risk their livelihood for my contentment. I'm lonely. Not for…" her face scrunched up as though the concept was too unpleasant to name, "that. But honest company. Someone to speak to who isn't a flatterer, or cowed by my name, or using me for my money or status. When I read what you've written, I… feel a connection with you. Not that we're secretly alike, but that you _understand_ me, you can see the world I live in, but without being blinded by the glamor."

Well.

That was a lot.

Ruby took a deep breath, then took the plunge. "Truly, it's an honor, but… I'm the last person you should look to for 'honesty,' if that's what you want." From the look on her stunned face, it seemed that she had made the wrong choice. Oh well, she warned Jaune. No point in doing things halfway. "I'm literally here so that you'll finance our production, and what you've just said... you've told me who I am to you, or, I guess, who I'm _supposed_ to be. You're giving me my role, _complete_ with notes, and your expectations of my performance. I'd do it, for the show's sake, but that's… quite literally what you _don't want._"

In the following silence, the duchess's look was hard to read. If she was angry or annoyed, Ruby couldn't really tell. She paused a moment, then finally spoke. "You're a remarkable young man, Mr. Rose. Not many would ruin their chances so… bluntly," but then she smiled, a soft, genuine thing, "But that's why I wanted to speak with you. Mr. Rose, I… I don't…" at these words her eyes dropped down, along with her voice, and she nervously grabbed at her arm. "I don't know if I'm… a good person. And I want to be a better person, but everywhere I look, I find myself blinded by my past, my wealth, my society—I _need_ someone who can see through all those, someone who can tell me what kind of person _I am._"

Now was the chance. An excellent opportunity for the both of them, for Ruby to make her request and for Duchess Schnee to prove her virtue. And yet… Ruby found herself, somehow, at a loss for words. She lost her nerve, or perhaps, she just didn't think this was the right time. Strategically, of course, it was the perfect time, but she wasn't Jaune—she wasn't someone who had those canny instincts to seize the leverage she had.

So she tried to deflect. "I don't… I don't think I've ever presented myself as an expert on what makes someone a good person. I might skewer a few-"

"Please." There was no pleading in her voice, no request. This was a command, an insistent request delivered in a way that made Ruby sit up a little straighter and a little more anxiously. "I've seen your work. I've followed your career. And I know how to tell when somebody has something they aren't sure if they should say. Please, Mr. Rose, I would like to hear it."

Well, if she insisted. And there was a part of Ruby, a small part, but growing, that realized that she wanted to pitch this because… because it might help her. That she was a woman Ruby wanted to help. "What if… Maybe what I could say is, I might need your help, Ma'am." The Duchess gave her a quizzical look. "I know you're helping us financially, but there's something… I want to do. Something that's going to be-"

"You wish to cast a Faunus in the production."

Ruby looked at her gobsmacked. "H-how did you-"

At that, the Duchess gave her a small, self-satisfied smile as she blushed. "Well, as I said, I have been following your career, and, well… what you tried to do with _A Peculiar Matter_ was… it was very brave. Even if you failed—especially because you failed! You took a risk even though you weren't certain of the outcome. It reminded me that I could do… so much more than most anyone in Vale, and yet I…" she started to tear up. "I'm sorry."

"Ma'am," Ruby rested her hand on the other woman's, "I might not be the best advisor for morality, but if you could give us the backing we need to do this, we might really be able to change things in Vale. It's small, but… it's a start. With your support, Duchess, we could at least try."

She nodded, grave, but hopeful. "Please, call me… Weiss. If you would," she added, hastily. "I know that my status cannot 'go away' so simply, but," her voice grew quiet, "I would like to try."

"I… I think that would be nice," she answered. Did she lie? It didn't feel like a lie. It honestly sounded like something she wanted, but was it just another absurdity of her

And at the same time, there was something… pure about the duchess- about Weiss. What she wanted from Ruby, her insight, her independence, that was something she could get from _Ruby_, with no need for Rory to be involved. She wanted something transcendent, ethereal, something that demanded the honesty that Ruby longed to live by. Unbound from such material concerns as their sex, perhaps, in this openness and honesty, she could even reveal her secret to her!

But as she made her goodbyes, her promises to meet her again for tea, she reminded herself that that was foolishness. She was feeling off kilter from her… encounter with Blake, and she knew she was feeling the need to have someone to speak to as herself. She hadn't realized how much she relied on knowing that Blake knew her secret, but she wasn't sure if she could ever imagine Weiss filling that role.

Everything she knew about her, her title, her standing, her wealth, suggested she was the last one she could trust, while everything about the woman she'd met suggested someone who wasn't like that. And so, Ruby wasn't sure what to think of Weiss. Her interest seemed sincere, and she certainly wasn't another wealthy socialite trying to seem sophisticated. And what she said with the Faunus… there must be some history there. But her real feelings on her were connected to much more personal thoughts. She thought of when she first met Pyrrha, of being overwhelmed by her almost singular personality, looks, and status, but while Weiss outranked Pyrrha in all three areas, she never felt that same intimidation. Was it so simple, so childish, that it could be accounted for by knowing that Weiss was not "competition" for Jaune's affection? She had certainly felt a stab of insecurity in first meeting her, but that wasn't the same, really. Pyrrha was… a lot. A woman, who, like her, felt overly constrained by the assumptions of society, but while Ruby had engineered her own identity as a deception, Pyrrha had just… bulled through it, relying on her genius and force of will to make society move around her. The benefit of having money and status, but at the same time, Ruby wasn't sure that alone answered it.

And Weiss was a lot too! She had more money and status than anyone Ruby had ever really met, and yet… she didn't _feel_ like it. She seemed-

She seemed exactly like Ruby, really.

They both wore a costume that fit neither of them well. Weiss looked the part of the imperious, serene Duchess, but she so quickly revealed that, beneath the wealth and prestige, there was something unsound. She was clearly unhappy and that unhappiness seemed tied up in the limitations of her power—"I don't think I'm a good person" alongside her "I could do so much more for the Faunus" painted a rather haunting picture. Regrets, coupled with a desire for someone who would look at her without being "blinded" by status... Did she want a friend or a confessor?

Ruby walked back to the cab that would take her home. She had a lot to think about. About money and class and power. About the Faunus. And about a woman she wasn't sure she could figure out.


	3. Women of Some Importance

Cardin Winchester was an idiot.

But he was a rich idiot and a competent idiot and that made him a good business manager for the show. Jaune walked with him through the theatre, Cardin rattling off the various deals and arrangements that had been made, all the underwriting necessary in order for the show to go through. Schnee pockets were _deep_, though, and Jaune knew they could just about write their own ticket, so he wasn't listening too closely.

But as Cardin finished wrapping up their business, he turned to Jaune with an impish smile. "Tell me… any luck with Nikos, or are the rumors true?"

He gave a polite laugh to dissuade him, "No, our so-called 'engagement' is just Ms. Fall's attempt to move papers when-"

"No, not _that_ rumor," he smirked, "I've just heard that… let's say she _prefers the company _of her lady's maid, that's all I'll say." And he snickered while Jaune's polite smile got tighter on his face.

Jaune grimaced. "You'd be smart to remember that she's a major _investor_ in this and if we lose her favor, we'll be-"

He threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright, no need to read me the riot act. But…" that damnable smirk got even more annoyingly present, "Come on, you've ever known an _actual_ woman that tall? I'm just saying, she's a little _indecent_, you know…"

"If you're trying to bait me into a fight," he growled, "you're on the right goddamn track."

"Ooh, touched a nerve, did I?"

"Cardin!" he gripped the man by the shirt and shoved him roughly against the wall. "The only thing keeping me from beating the _hell _out of you is-"

"I give, I give!" he laughed, "Alright, I'll lay off your girl. I was only _joking._"

He let go of his business partner and turned to storm off. He really ought to have decked him. It'd set back the show, but in the long run, he'd save everyone else having to deck him. But he knew he couldn't punch every small-minded idiot, or he'd be stuck spending all day taking swings at people. _Pick your battles_, he reminded himself_, Calm down, get your bearings back._

He took a walk through the back rooms of the theatre, taking a moment to appreciate the network of tunnels and storage rooms that lurked behind the stage, letting the peacefulness of the space flow into him. Ever since he was a kid, trying desperately to find some position, some way to be a part of making the shows that so fascinated him, there was nothing he was more enamored with than the backstage. Yes, he was born for the glare of the stage lights, for the audience's appreciation, but he loved walking through the secret spaces and seeing how the show came to be outside of anyone else's eyes.

Rory, he knew, thought of him as a gloryhound, and he thought that because it was true, but Jaune loved the _mystery_ of the theatre as much as the spectacle. The roar of a cheering crowd made him ecstatic, but this made him feel… reverential. The way, he supposed, he was supposed to feel about religion. A crowd of thousands is gathered to see something so carefully and strangely constructed, something to entertain, to educate, to _connect_ with them. Walking amongst the old sets and props put him in a serene state, removed from Cardin's idiocy.

Though after talking to Cardin, he always felt like he needed a long, hot bath, and he had a good inclination towards where he could get one. It made him nervous, though, to feel so strongly the _pull_ to go to Pyrrha. As Jaune felt himself becoming more and more enthralled to the lady, he was given an ugly reminder of another crass rumor spread by jealous rivals. That Pyrrha was a practitioner of dark arts, of secret Mistralian sorceries that let her succeed in business. As he fell more and more helplessly under her sway, he started to suspect there might be truth in it. When all he could think about was giving in to her, to admit to her that truth in his soul that she so obviously wanted to hear, well, all his instincts and experience told him not to be an idiot, to not forget that they were _not_ of the same world, but a small part of him, a small part, but growing stronger, was very insistent that he at least _consider_ being an idiot. And of all his idiocies in love and romance, this one was far less likely to kill him than some…

Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and something sharp prick his neck. "Just don't say anything for a little while, Mr. Arc." He complied, his skillset being very limited in responses to a knife at his throat.

He was pulled backwards, into an unused room, watching the door slam before his eyes, and then he was spun around. Now he could see his captor face to face. A pale girl, with long, dark hair with two unmistakably Faunus ears poking out, but her most striking feature was by far her eyes. Amber in color, and piercing, with the focused look that told Jaune she wasn't an actor, that it wasn't a bluff when it came to her knife. She wore dark workman's clothes, the sort of thing that wouldn't draw much attention, but he was much more focused on that knife she was carrying, seeming to gleam even in the indoor darkness, than her clothes.

"Listen, we can-"

"This is not a negotiation, Mr. Arc. You will not speak." He furiously nodded his assent to that. He did _not _need to have a second mouth, not now, likely not ever. But she seemed pleased with his fear. "I am with the White Fang, though, I am not currently speaking on the movement's behalf. Sit down, Mr. Arc."

He wasn't entirely certain what was going on now, but that was no reason not to get away from the knife and take the weight off his jellied legs. He tried to remind himself to breathe, to reestablish some control of himself, if not the situation, but he found it quite a bit more difficult to stage bravado when off the stage.

Except… _she _seemed to be having a similar issue, now suddenly seeming uncertain with what to say. "Alright, perhaps you… can speak, _but only to answer my questions!_"

It took a few moments before he realized she expected an answer. "Oh! Yes, whatever you say, ma'am, I won't-"

The flash of her knife quickly shut him up. "Your associate, Rory Rose…" Oh no. Oh no no no no no! She _had_ to push for a Faunus actor, she had to- "has she mentioned to you _anything_ about her sister recently?"

What.

_What?_ Her _sister?_ _Her_ sister? "Ma'am… I think you may have me confused with someone else…" he tried to play it cool with a quick half laugh, "or, at least, in Vale, Rory is a _man's _name."

His assailant somehow got even paler as he said that "I- I knew that! I just… we have a number of operations here in Vale, and I might have slipped up, now just _answer the question!_" And the knife was back his throat with an alarming speed and closeness.

"N-no! He hasn't! I d-didn't even know he had a sister!" _Knife knife knife knife!_

She lowered the blade and almost seemed to sigh with relief. "That… is good to know. Under no circumstances do you tell _him_ that we spoke. Am I _understood?_"

And then, in a blink, she disappeared into the catacombs, as though this was her home even more than Jaune's. He gently rubbed a hand along his throat, fearing to check exactly how close that knife got to ending his life, and slowly letting out a nice, long breath as his legs remembered that they could move.

What in the _hell_ had just happened?

* * *

Ruby had to admit, time spent with Weiss was not bad. And as the meetings added up, lunches, dinners, teas, always under some professional excuse, but clearly just socializing. She remembered consulting her personal calendar to refresh her memory on a small issue, only to realize just how many days she'd visited. It was starting to feel like Weiss was simply someone she'd known her whole life. Like visiting with her was as ordinary as… well, if anyone other than her was visiting their sister.

Today, they wandered together through the gardens of her estate, appreciating the lush fragrance and the cool breeze. Ruby had never seen anything like this place before, perpetually amazed by every extravagant fountain and carefully arranged plot. It was truly breathtaking, though she figured she'd enjoy it more if she wasn't so aware that she was perpetually shadowed by her butler or that unknown number of identically-dressed maids. "In case we need anything," Weiss had explained. But Ruby knew it was for propriety. This, ironically, might be the one time she would actually have _more _freedom if she lived her gender.

But Ruby didn't terribly mind, so distracted was she by the story Weiss was now in the midst of telling. "…well, I said to him, brave as I could, 'Mr. Torchwick, if you are going to burgle me, you could at least have the decency to do it without waking me up!'"

Ruby burst out laughing, "You really did that?"

"I scarcely believe it myself, but I really did!" She sounded proud, but like it was a secret pride, like she was sharing something she personally, if no one else, put a lot of value in.

"And what did he do next?"

She grinned, a roguish, ignoble grin that made it seem like this whole conversation was very deeply taboo. "He laughed! A big, roaring laugh, and then he bowed, apologized for the disturbance, kissed my hand, and left."

She gave her an equally roguish grin, "I suspect, however, he left with more than a few of your jewels?"

"I consider it an acceptable payment for a good story. He seemed to know not to touch my mother's jewelry. Perhaps it was just luck, but… I prefer to think of him as a gentleman."

It was considered fashionable to have been burgled by Roman Torchwick, the Gentleman Thief, and Ruby knew there was a small business in printing forgeries of his calling card. Jaune had acquired one for Pyrrha—supposedly, she was disappointed that the man seemed too intimidated to attempt to rob her.

Weiss looked at her, sadly. "The worst part is, you're the only person I've ever been able to tell this story to."

"Really?"

"Me in my bedclothes with a strange man? Could you imagine the scandal?" And that explained the secret pride. She could show the calling card, could prove that she was part of the odd sorority of his targets, but the best part of the story… she couldn't tell anyone. She'd upheld her pride and her dignity in a most frightening and dangerous situation, and yet, all anyone else would hear is the impropriety that the situation happened at all!

"Perhaps, sometimes… scandal isn't so bad," Ruby answered, softly. "It gives life a little bit of frisson, the reminder that we're not always the same day in and day out. I must say, the show's tend to benefit from a little hint of scandal when it comes to publicity."

"Perhaps… And how is the show coming together?"

She smiled, eager at the chance to speak to something she could be an expert in. "Well enough, though I fear Jaune might threaten to quit if he and Ironwood can't come to see things eye-to-eye." James Ironwood was an excellent director, someone Ruby trusted to get her vision across. He was also, however, an incredibly strict man, used to the theatres of Atlas, which were more like military operations than artistic ones. But that's what she needed—his eye would do a lot to ground the show away from an easy farcical interpretation.

"I understand that Mr. Arc is an essential part of the show," she replied, her voice icy. A statement, but a question implicit in it—"Can I have him fired?"

She had to handle this carefully. "Jaune's the best man for the job—I wrote the part for him. No one in Vale can do justice to my writing like he can. Plus, I'm absolutely hopeless at the management side of things and I _desperately_ need his help when it comes to that. And besides," she added with a warm smile, "he was the first to support me as a writer. He's been my closest friend since the beginning, and what I achieve now, I could never have done without him." Then she gave Weiss a wry smile. "I take it you don't like him?"

She gave a most unladylike snort at that. "I had the misfortune of meeting him at a social gathering and he…" she trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

"He _didn't!_" she giggled.

"He _did._"

"Oh, Jaune," she laughed, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, he's a shameless flirt, but he does it for the shows. Like I said, the scandal sheets keep us in business. I live by my writing, but nobody shows up unless there's some drama outside the theatre to keep people talking."

"Hmm. I find such attention to be, well… mortifying. The thought of being so exposed does not suit me."

"Doesn't exactly thrill me, either. But Jaune stays on the tabloids and that means I can stay off of it. There's this journalist, Cinder Fall," she tried, and failed, to stifle the note of disgust in her voice, "she's really made a business digging up everything she can on us, but since Jaune's such an easy target…"

"She doesn't spend time on you," she nodded in understanding, "But… what do you have to hide?"

"Nothing more than you do—I just don't want the attention."

Weiss looked at her briefly, and Ruby almost flinched from her gaze. Did- did she suspect something? Could she see through her disguise? But rather than having a question for her, Weiss instead turned to her maid. "Harriet? Could you fetch us something to drink?"

The woman was gone so quickly, Ruby wasn't quite sure she'd even seen her leave. She turned to Weiss to make a joke about it, but then she realized—for the first time, she was standing with Weiss unchaperoned.

"Harriet is the quickest of my maids; she won't be gone long. Not long enough that we might risk… impropriety," she said, her voice taking a slightly teasing lilt, "No, I just… I wanted to see you when… when there were no eyes upon us. I wanted to see you when it was only us. That… was all I desired."

There was something… achingly beautiful about that, in Ruby's mind. So pure and honest, a desire for the simple freedom to _look_ upon someone, without the endless pressure of who she was supposed to be. And to be… looked upon, Ruby realized. Like with Roman in her bedchambers, the sense of, for once, being _herself_ in an encounter. No trappings, no society—she had proven her dignity with Roman. But what was she seeking to prove with Ruby?

_With Rory,_ she corrected herself. "I… I think that's rather beautiful," she said. Weiss shot her a look of puzzlement. "You must spend your whole life under observation," she clarified, "and now you want a brief moment of freedom… I… didn't want to tell you this, but when I first met you," she gave a half laugh, "you felt like the sort of a character I would write."

"Oh?" she asked, inquiringly, "And tell me, Mr. Rose… in your story," and that's when Ruby realized exactly how close Weiss was standing to her, "how does it _end?_"

That question was not- it was not a subtle question! A momentary panic entered Ruby's mind, but then, it stilled. When she looked at Weiss, she saw something that made her heart beat in a way that reminded her of Jaune, and yet, not at all like with Jaune. It wasn't as crass as desire. It wasn't like that. There was a sweetness to Weiss, a vividness trapped in this gilt cage, and Ruby knew it was slowly being sapped from her. Looking at her, she saw a possibility, a future for the both of them: Weiss could keep her secret, and, in return, Ruby could keep hers. They could sustain each other, _save_ each other from the world they were enmeshed in. Weiss's eyes were a mirror, that pleading, hopeful look that told her she only needed to ask…

But before Ruby could say anything, she was suddenly aware that a maid was back with a pitcher and some glasses. She blushed and took a step back, as though she'd been caught in the middle of something shameful. Weiss raised a teasing eyebrow at that, but one that carried a warning—she was under the eye of propriety once again, and she should avoid even _seeming_ like something may be amiss.

"Why thank you, Harriet," Weiss said, accepting a glass and gesturing for Ruby to take one as well, "Actually, that reminds me, Mr. Rose. Appropriate to your name, we're just outside the rose garden." She said this as they passed through a trellised hedge, and Ruby was stunned at what she had just walked into, the brilliant red blooms and tangled, dark green bushes, the hint of thorns offset by the glory of the petals. It was breathtaking, she had to admit, even if she had never been a girl to care for flowers.

Though Weiss's attitude was different. "I must admit, I'm not terribly fond of this part of the garden," she confessed. "It was my late father's work. He was a rather straightforward man, you see, and he was convinced that the rose bush was the very pinnacle of horticulture. So the Schnee Estate must have a proper rose garden. But," and now excitement crept into her voice, "while I cannot unmake his beloved rose garden, I do have a plan for renovating it."

"Oh?" Ruby asked, finding Weiss's enthusiasm rather infectious. "Please, tell me more."

"I've spoken to a horticulturalist from Atlas who has shown me a strain of roses with petals of pure white. Can you imagine it, Mr. Rose? This garden, but all in white and green!" Caught up in her excitement, Ruby could easily picture it. The crispness of the colors, the bright white blooms bursting from the dark, thorny tangle of the bushes.

And Ruby could easily tell the symbolism: white was purity, yes, but also a fresh start. It suggested newness, it suggested the cleanliness of a fresh snow blanketing the countryside. The white rose replacing the red was the start of something new and original and pure. The end of old ties and the beginning of new life.

It was a powerful symbol, she thought, particularly in the hands of Weiss Schnee.

* * *

In spite of his sociable, outgoing nature, Jaune always hated hosting people at his own home. It always felt a little unnerving to have people filling a space that was so distinctly his own. Yes, he could reshape it and refashion it more easily than any other place he might socialize, and yet, it always felt that there was too much of himself, that he was too exposed. So he preferred to claim he was just a loutish sort who preferred to show up for others' parties and social gatherings than to have to play host.

Of course, like everything in his life, there was one exception.

Rory was, at present, running off words at a mile a minute, presumably an attempt to tamp down conflict between Jaune and ol' Ironsides, or, perhaps, he just liked rattling off all the reasons Jaune should like working with such a storied Atlesian director. But Jaune had, as partner, already approved Ironwood's hiring—there was no more conflict there than just what was necessary to maintain his reputation and his own artistic independence. And more importantly, he had bigger things to talk about.

"Rory," he interrupted his rambling defense, "Ironwood and I have an understanding—you don't have to worry about us. And I've got something I've been," he sighed, "meaning to ask you."

The way Rory paled made him feel awful. But between the events of today or the meeting he'd had with Ms. Fall from even before they had investors for the show, he knew that a picture was coming together, and it was a picture he _did not like._ "What history do you have with the White Fang?"

"W-what!" he exclaimed, practically sputtering with indignation, "Who- why would you think I have anything to do with the White Fang?"

He held up a hand. "You're a terrible liar, Rory, so I'd-"

Rory snorted. Something about the accusation seemed to cool Rory's temper, but not his anger. "You... you really think I'm a terrible liar? There's _loads_ about me you don't know, Jaune. Things that would-"

"You're good at _keeping secrets_," he rebutted, "but that's not _lying_. I know you have your secrets, Rory, I know there's things I've _never_ asked you about, but this White Fang thing is getting bigger than I think you can manage."

"What's the difference?"

Jaune sat back in his armchair for a second. "The difference? Between lying and keeping secrets?" Rory nodded, challengingly. Even though he was annoyed and more than a little concerned, Jaune couldn't help but feel a little affectionate as Rory set him up to declaim. "You and I," he began with a bold proclamation, "we both have a relationship to the truth. Often a truth we don't like, or a truth we don't want others to know. But you just need to avoid those truths, to set yourself like a branch in a stream, letting the truth run around you and meeting back together after it's passed you by. But me…" he looked to Rory, his words catching for a second in his throat as he thought of all the things he'd had to contort and spin to keep things running.

The very first thing he'd ever told Rory, that he was an actor… that had been a lie. Deceiving Ozpin into thinking they were students rather than stiffs. And every little trick he'd pulled with the press for every show they'd ever done together. Lies upon deceptions upon cons upon lies. And he'd done it all to get Rory and him to where they were now.

He took a breath. "A liar needs to know the truth better than anyone. Indeed, the truth is a liar's best friend," he could see Rory roll his eyes, but he wasn't stopping now, "because only the liar knows the whole truth. Everyone else, they're missing something—they need to match their pieces together and find what doesn't add up, but I'm the one who knows exactly what I am or what I've done and I just have to give them enough pieces that it looks like the puzzle's finished. You just have to keep your head down—I have to know every single audience I am lying to, what they know, and who they're talking to and what _they_ know."

"You ever think this is why people like Weiss don't like you?"

"Oh, she's Weiss now?" he shot back, delighting in the way Rory blushed.

But she gritted her teeth and kept up the retaliation. "Maybe if you didn't give grandiose speeches about how good you are at lying, maybe you could have gone to negotiate with her, rather than me."

"And deny you time with your sweet Weiss? I think not," he scoffed. "But, Rory, the White Fang—I can't cover for you unless I know what's happening. Cinder Fall's got a whiff of a story that you're funding them, and she digs deep and doesn't quit easy. We _need_ a strategy."

Rory looked down nervously. "I mean, they haven't found anything yet, so do you really have to-"

"Rory, for heaven's sake, could you try and be honest with me?"

He looked him in the eye, and he felt his anger soften. Rory... he was his professional collaborator, his closest friend, and in those odd, silver eyes, he saw the boy that he still, somehow, was, the brilliant, darling boy who was in over his head and needed Jaune's help. The young man who Jaune knew he would tear the entire theatrical establishment apart for.

A painful reminder to Jaune of why he preferred to spend his life in the company of women.

Rory sighed. "Alright. We'll try… being honest. Yes, I've been voluntarily donating money to the White Fang."

Jaune's mouth dropped. "T-they _tried to kill you!_"

"A _faction_," he corrected, like that was a thing he could do, "a rogue one, and they only made a threat. There wasn't an actual plot." Jaune stared at him blankly for an unknowable amount of time, so Rory continued, "I've been making a donation to an operative of the White Fang who… happens to know my sister."

"Well, that's what she wanted to talk to me about," he muttered, darkly.

Rory's eyes went wide. "W-what? You spoke with _Blake?_"

"Well, now I know her name," he answered, "Also met her knife. Pleasant experience, quite the charmer. Anyways, she asked me if you mentioned anything about your sister to me."

"…Why?" he said, but in an empty voice, as though he was speaking to himself more than to Jaune.

He shook his head. "Didn't say. Though I suspect this wasn't your 'Blake.' She didn't seem to know you very well, so as far as I know, it was a command from higher up."

Rory looked aghast, and Jaune suddenly felt guilty for his sarcasm.

"How do you do this?"

Jaune looked back up in surprise. "What?"

He looked almost to be on the brink of tears. "The- _this!_ How do you keep it all straight, how do you keep ahead of everything? I've been just keeping my head down and I feel like I'm about to _drown_ in all these secrets, and now you have to figure out how to make them all seem like they're true?"

"It's… not easy. And I'd rather you didn't learn how." He sighed, "Sometimes, it feels like I've been playing a role too long, and when I'm…" Honesty, honesty like this, spoken out loud, like he was with Pyrrha, was always a painful experience, and the kind that left his vulnerabilities entangled upon his listener. And yet, he spoke anyways, "When I'm with Pyrrha, I feel that mask… _slip_, except… except sometimes, I don't really know what's underneath it, not anymore."

"A good man."

He turned to look at his companion. Rory had spoken so simply, so quickly, it was like he didn't even think before he answered him. There was a look in his eyes that compelled Jaune to remember Ren, to remember those days before he left to return to Mistral. The good days, two young men who had no money, and yet, the whole world was theirs.

He broke away. There were things that were stupid and things that were criminal and things that were cruel.

And he knew, if there was one thing Jaune Arc knew, one thing that he would sooner die than fail, was that he would protect Rory from that.

"I- Alright, I… thank you, Rory." Jaune got up from his seat. He damn well needed a drink, and this was not a conversation he wanted to have without something to take the edge off. "I'm grabbing the sherry. We've got to strategize how we're handling this, and we have to do it right, so we're not getting drunk, but," he cracked a wry grin, "there's no reason we can't have a little fun with it. You and me, eh? Like old times. Running a con against the whole establishment, just staying one step ahead of the gossips as we knock their socks off night after night!"

And Rory smiled at that, and Jaune knew he was making the right choice. He had his duchess and his writing and his whole life ahead of him. The two of them had achieved more than they'd ever dreamed when they were penniless, and they were poised to go even further. And all he had to do was not ruin it.

Simple stuff, really. How hard could that be?


	4. Surely A Second Coming Is At Hand

The show was cast. Sets were being built, costumes being sewed, and rehearsals were scheduled. So, of course, Ruby was in the grip of total neurosis.

Weiss, she had found, had become an essential companion. She always hated burdening Jaune in the lead up to opening night, when he needed to rehearse as well as manage business and publicity matters, with all her pre-show anxieties, but she'd found that Weiss actually loved to hear about it. She even found Ruby's complaints fascinating, saying she enjoyed learning more about Ruby's thoughts, her process, and the experience of being a professional playwright. And, in return, Weiss opened up to Ruby, about her childhood, about her own hobbies and pursuits, even just little things about the way the upper classes lived. Ruby loved hearing all of it.

Today was a day like any other. They'd shared dinner, an incredibly luxurious meal where Weiss had to instruct Ruby on the names of half the foods, discussing over the meal the progress of the show, how Jaune was conning up publicity, and how Ironwood was serving as a director, which lead to Weiss telling a funny story about her family's long connections to Atlas—seemed they'd left for Vale under somewhat embarrassing circumstances, though her ancestors had done much to cover that up. Ruby was no stranger to satirizing the wealthy and elite, but hearing the dirt straight from the source, well, that was different.

After dinner, they retired to the sitting room for a digestif and more conversation. It was as they had done a dozen times before. Jokes, stories and brandy, well into the night, the sort of thing Ruby knew was cutting into her work time, and yet, she couldn't help herself but stay. Except… as Ruby was starting to realize, this wasn't like any other conversation they'd ever had.

They were totally alone.

Glancing around, she didn't see Harriet anywhere anymore. Nor Klein, nor any of the other uniformed staff that were always about. Weiss seemed to realize what she was thinking. "I know my servants," she said, softly, "I know that some of them can be trusted, if properly compensated, to do what I ask of them without any questions."

Ruby nodded, slowly considering the implications of that statement. She… Weiss surely didn't want _that, _right? She still chided herself for leaping so quickly to assuming impropriety the first time they'd met, and, after all, Weiss had said, when she last was alone with her, she merely wanted to be without the sense of observation. _Stop being weird, _she reminded herself, _keep a cool head. Just like Jaune taught you._

What actually stilled her thoughts, though, was the way Weiss's face grew grave as she seemed to be working up the courage to speak. "Is there…" Ruby ventured, hesitantly, "Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

Weiss nodded. "There's… something I've been thinking a lot about lately. About my family. But it's not a… it's not a happy story."

"If all you need is for me to listen," Ruby ventured, "I can be here for you." She nodded at Weiss to continue.

She took a deep breath. "My father always wanted a son. A proper heir, you see, for his legacy. But my mother… she had a weak constitution. She was never healthy in her best condition, and pregnancy…" She looked away, darkly.

It wasn't hard to guess at her meaning there. So much aristocratic drama was tied to whether or not a son was born, and, from the fact that the unmarried Weiss was the Duchess, well, she could guess what had happened there.

"I was born weak and sickly. But… I suppose I've always been a fighter. I survived. Where… my siblings didn't." Her eyes were closed now, her demeanor struggling, but Ruby knew not to interrupt. To know that she was here to listen to something Weiss had never said to a living soul before. "And he blamed me for it. When he finally got his son… and neither…" she let the meaning hang, "I knew he just thought… 'If only Weiss hadn't made it. If only she'd been the one to die instead.'" And then her eyes opened, the tears now flowing freely, "I was a child, Mr. Rose, a _child, _and nearly my whole life I was raised to think that I had killed my mother and ruined my family."

"It's not true," Ruby answered, lamely. Greatest writer of her age and she didn't have any words to offer other than weak reassurances.

"No," she answered, "It isn't. But I learned a darker truth in that. Something I had thought to be a fundamental rule for so, so much of my life." Ruby's eyes were wordlessly locked on Weiss's. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice crystals, shone with a power behind them that few had ever seen.

"Men and love and marriage are just ways for women to die."

The words hung in the air. Dreadful and terrible, but it was something that echoed in Ruby's mind. She'd been raised by her father on Patch, far from where she grew up far from the eye of social norms. And yet, she knew them. Knew that she and her sister were unladylike, that they weren't the norm. And that the world they lived in, it wasn't for them. It was why she came to Vale disguised as a boy in the first place, so many years ago.

But death… yes, she knew that, too, didn't she? Her own mother's death had been an unfortunate tragedy, but she knew what Weiss was talking about. For every Pyrrha or Weiss, who started life with a hand up, or women like herself or Yang, who found some way to elude society's grasp, there were a thousand women who compromised on everything to stay alive. She'd seen them everywhere in her life, though surely invisible to the world around them. Women who endured what Ruby could never, with violent, drunkard husbands or even those in their best state, who still had to endure the inescapable dangers of childbirth. And Weiss, ensconced in the powers of wealth and status… she would be expected to take a husband and produce an heir. Even if no legal power could be brought about her, she could be made to learn what isolation and rejection could really feel like.

"I think…" she ventured slowly, remembering what Weiss had asked of her the very first time they met, "I think I understand you."

At that, Weiss gave her a weak smile, the kind that flooded Ruby's heart with hope and sympathy. "I know you do," she quietly replied, "You're not like anyone I've ever known before, Mr. Rose."

Ruby blushed at the compliment. "It's… the least I could do. I get the feeling you've never told this to... to anyone before." She wanted to do more. It was a strange compulsion, a desire deep in her soul that she wanted to see Weiss happy, that she wanted to be someone who could pull her from her past and free her from the solitude and misery and… all the ways she found herself staring at Weiss when they were together, the stolen glimpses at the end of her visits and the way she felt as she left.

Dread spilled into her heart. She'd really done it now, hadn't she?

In spite of Ruby's sudden realization, and as tragic as the conversation was, Weiss was smiling now. Softly, not joyfully, but the smile of a woman who cherished her as much as Ruby cherished her in return. "Who else could I trust?" she asked, and then laughed, "Before I met you, I never thought there was a man in this world who I could ever talk to." Ruby cringed at that, knowing that she still hadn't found a man she could talk to, but then Weiss added, "You're not like other men, are you?" and Ruby was thrown into a panic.

Had she been found out? That was- it was good right? But- she rushed, flustered, for explanation. "I-" but as soon as she began, she was cut off as Weiss held a finger to her lips.

She was so close. When had she gotten so close?

"I've never known anyone like you. Anyone who could made me feel this way. I'm- I'm not _afraid_ when I'm around you. I feel safe, and like I could," Ruby knew she had to stop her, to explain that she wasn't what she thought she was, but no force from her mind could compel her to words, "like I could face anything, if I were with you."

And then she kissed her.

And Ruby kissed her back.

Their lips met, an electrical _burst_ of hope and cherished desire sparking across them. And that burst of _possibility_ knit together into the image of a future that they could have together. Ruby could be Weiss's confidant, a wellspring of strength and security. And Weiss would keep her secret, would understand its meaning and she could be free of her fears and the endless scrutiny and Jaune would-

No. No it wasn't. This wasn't true, wasn't possible, it was- it was- _This wasn't what she wanted!_

She broke the kiss and pulled back. Weiss's eyes opened, slowly realizing something was wrong. "I- I can't," she said in a stuttering apology, "It's not- We can't. We can't!"

Weiss looked at her, her eyes desperate and afraid. "Please, Rory, I don't understand," she pleaded, tears already welling in her eyes. "Do- do you not-"

"It's not you!" she was quick to respond, though knowing how futile it was to say it, "It's not your fault, I just- I'm not… I'm not who you think I am."

"Is anyone?" she asked, plaintively, "Am I who you think I am? Please, Rory, I don't care what's in your past, or what secrets you have. Everyone in this city has something they want to hide, but they can still find love! Whoever you are, I _love_ you, Rory."

"But…" she blinked away her tears, struggling mightily to remain on her feet, "I'm not- I'm not," and then she felt a surge of anger, the many years of repressed frustration at this horrible fake, this _parasite_ that so consumed her life. It surged forth, uncontrollably as she screamed, "I'm not Rory! I'm- I'm not _him!_" She had winded herself, in her anger. She caught herself panting, staring in hopelessness and sorrow and fury at a woman who was totally blameless in all this. The innocents were always the ones to suffer in these dramas, and the look of uncomprehending hurt and pain cut Ruby nearly as deeply as her rejection had cut Weiss.

She could explain. She could tell the truth, gather up some of that extraordinary, spent courage Weiss had summoned to speak her truth and show her who she was. Tell her the truth that burned inside her, that scorched her inside with every heartbeat. _Just say the words!_ All she had to do was _speak_. And yet… she couldn't. All she could do was stare, stare with her knife's gaze at a woman who she so dearly didn't want to hurt. Who she couldn't bear to be the source of _more _pain in her life. But what else could she do, as she tore her eyes away from Weiss's shocked face, turned, and ran.

She could hear Weiss calling after her, but Ruby didn't stop to listen, didn't stop for anything. Perhaps, if she stopped, she'd save everything, she'd be able to face her reality, to admit who she was, _everything could be fixed!_ But all she could feel was the coward inside her, the voice that begged her to run, run as far away as she could.

* * *

Even when she was done running, she couldn't stop moving. Even in the city, far from the estate she'd fled from—no, that wasn't true. She was fleeing from herself, and that was why she couldn't stand still.

She staggered, drunk and stupid, through the street. She'd needed to drink, needed to drink more than she'd ever needed a drink in her life, and yet, it seemed she couldn't find liquor enough to shut up the voices inside her, screaming a hundred directions at every moment. She was bitter and tired and stupid and wanted to go home.

"Rory?"

She turned at the voice, and all the voices stilled as she realized that, of all the people to run into, late at night, on a deserted street, it was the love of her life. Even in her pain and confusion, something inside her sang when she looked at him. "Heeeeeey, Jaune," she said, almost forgetting to lower her pitch.

"Rory! Thank God I found you." He looked relieved, and another knife of guilt cut further into Ruby. "I got a message that something happened between you and Weiss, and-"

"What'd she say," she cut him off, not wanting to have this conversation, not yet, and especially not with Jaune.

"I- I don't know. Rory, are you... are you drunk?"

She laughed, harsh and bitter. "Whadda'sit matter," she scowled, "I can drink."

"Rory, please, I don't know what happened, but I'm your friend. I can help you..." but she was already tuning his words out. As she stared at him, at how clearly concerned he was for her, she realized how _right_ everything was. Things were always right when she was with him. He was pretty, wasn't he? So pretty. Such a pretty, pretty face, the sort of face she thought she could-

The lipstick.

It jerked her back to something like sobriety. The smear, right above his upper lip, a careless reminder of everything she could not have. He'd been at Pyrrha's, hadn't he, when he got the message? Weiss, of course, knew where to find him. Everybody did. Especially Ruby. It felt… it felt _worthless_, everything she had to show for this delusion. She could write a hundred plays about love, she could have her darling hanging on her every page, and he would go _back to Pyrrha's_ every night afterwards. She couldn't- she wouldn't-

And suddenly, she was upon him. What Weiss had done, she could too! His lips were… gods, they were soft. His fears seemed to dissipate as he returned the kiss, and for a moment, it felt like time itself, all continuity and causality and consequence had become disconnected. She felt free, liberated, like she'd finally cast off the specter of Rory Rose! That she was herself again, and she had _him._ But then the kiss broke, suddenly, and the world seemed to return around them, clamping down like a manacle about her.

"Rory, you can't-" he was still too stunned to really put the words together, "You can't _do that!_"

"I don't care!" she cried, "I love you Jaune, I've always-"

"Not! Here!" He grabbed Ruby and dragged her into a side alley, frantically looking around for anyone who might have heard or seen them. "Are you out of your _mind?_"

"No!" He vainly tried to get her to keep her voice down, "I've figured it out, Jaune! I've made up my mind and-"

"What about Weiss!"

"She…" she paused, eyes downcast. The wound in her heart, the trace of the guilt of how she'd left her, abandoned her, now opened again, fresh once more. But she couldn't help Weiss. "I'm not what Weiss wants, not really. And I don't want her! I want you, Jaune, I've only ever-"

She was shocked into silence as his hand struck her across the face. "If _anyone_ heard you, if anyone had _seen _what… what you did, we lose _everything_. The show, our reputation… it's a hard labor sentence, Rory! Don't you understand? Men _die_ from that!"

There was something terrifying in his face, but she wasn't listening. No, after so long, she no longer cared for warnings. She just had to make him understand, and she could! She giggled, drunk, but now on the adrenaline rather than alcohol. "It's alright Jaune! None of this is wrong, it's just-"

He stepped back, and all of a sudden she could read the horror on his face. A bone-deep chill cut through her as she saw that wrenching and terrible _fear_ in his eyes. "Rory, stop- stop talking!" And then he ran. Bolted, like the rabbits she used to chase back on Patch. Back when she was a child, and none of these things mattered. Where nothing held her back except a yearning to be a grownup, to be free of those limitations put on her as a child. But he ran. And he ran and he ran, and she didn't know how to chase him.

"Wait, Jaune, come back! I- come back!" she yelled, impotently. If she had just said it at the beginning, if she had just torn her shirt open, _if she could just run after him!_ Her feet were lead, uncooperative. Every ounce of her strength was dedicated to turning back time, if she could have just revealed herself, he wouldn't have run. And what now? Go after him? To his home? To _Pyrrha's?_ Would he still reject her, only now, would he reject her as herself? Tears streaming down her face, Ruby leaned against a wall and slowly, viciously, slumped to the ground.

"Hey, you alright there?"

She looked up in alarm at the voice, seeing a gray haired young man. He didn't have the look or sound of sympathy to him, but a cocky, self-satisfied air that made Ruby instantly dislike him, even if he hadn't come upon her in her moment of shame and loss. She looked away rather than respond.

"You gotta be careful. In this city, you never know who's listening. Gotta keep your armor up, you know."

And then he walked off, disappearing into the night, leaving only the faintest trace of dread in Ruby's heart to mark his passing.


	5. The Seafarer

_Knock, knock, knock._

Like the tolling of a great bell, like a summon to her doom, she heard another knocking at her door. Ruby looked out the window to see yet another messenger standing there. Another dolorous set of raps with the door knocker, and then, finally, he gave up, leaving his letter in the pile. Messages from all the people in her life, messages inquiring about her health and well-being, accounting for her missed meetings or asking for explanation for her disappearance or a hundred other things each and every one could be, not that she'd know.

Judging from the messenger's attire, his was another letter from Weiss. Another letter she wouldn't read.

How could she? How could she face any of this, knowing that she was cursed to either hurt or be hurt by everyone she loved. Weiss loved her, and, yes, she loved Weiss, but she loved Jaune _more, _but Jaune… she could still picture that look on his face, a look she never knew to fear before she'd seen it.

Horror. Pure, scattering horror etched across his face. She could have handled confusion, pity, even _disgust, _but she never knew to be afraid of fear. He was terrified of her, and that fear shattered the floor beneath her and left her terrified to leave her house. How could she continue when-

She heard a sound. The sound of two quick stomps on the floor, followed by a third after a pause. Another knock, an older one, a familiar one, and one that carried just as much trepidation to her heart.

Ruby walked, slowly, back to her dining room, to the source of the noise. And there she saw her. For the first time in years, they were in the same room, and Ruby could look upon her sister.

The legendary Yang Xiao Long. Looking more like a woman from another world than her half-sister.

She wore a heavy greatcoat that made her seem even larger than she was. Everything about Yang seemed to make her seem larger than she was. She couldn't possibly be as tall as Jaune, and yet, she seemed to loom enormous above her, her great mane of blond hair and those piercing lilac eyes seeming to fill the entire room.

"H-how did you-"

"How did I get in?" she asked, dropping herself into a chair and propping her leg up on the table. "Please, Rubes. You've never been able to keep me out of your business." That was… well, it was true. "I came here because you've set my girlfriend into a tizzy, but now that I _am_ here," she gave her a look over, seeing her ragged, unwashed state, "it seems we've actually got bigger matters to talk about."

Ruby looked at her in a fury. "Oh, like _what? _How you abandoned me and-"

She was cut off when Yang slammed her fist down into the table with force enough to nearly make the whole house shake. "Ruby, I'm not here to argue the past! If we're gonna talk, it's gonna be about…" she gestured back to Ruby's disheveled state. "And if we're going to be mad at each other, you had no right to treat Blake like that."

If Yang had thought that would _quiet_ Ruby's fury, then her people skills were exactly as good as Ruby remembered. "She was _blackmailing_ me-"

"No, she wasn't. And you know she wasn't, you're just looking for a reason to be mad at her because you're mad at me."

Ruby could have protested, could have mounted a defense. But Yang had hit true, and worse, Ruby was just too tired to really try and fight her sister. "I don't… I don't want to talk about me, yet," she mumbled, taking her seat at the table, "Just… I haven't seen you in a long time Yang."

A strain of guilt crossed her eyes, and Ruby felt some reciprocal pain at that. "I… was worried about Blake telling you," she started slowly, "Tried to tell her about all that'd happened, but she was just too excited when she learned that we were related—she likes you a lot more than you know—and, well, I met her family and she wanted to meet some of my family, and that's pretty much just you. Can't exactly tell dad about Blake, you know," she laughed, faintly.

There was something painful in that. That Yang could live as she was, could _have_ a girlfriend, even meet their parents, without judgment because, well, because she was Yang. Ruby couldn't resist going for a jab. "Because she's a Faunus or because she's a woman?"

But Yang only gave another soft laugh at that. "Because we're part of a militant organization together and we've both got prices on our heads. Come on, dad knew _that part_ about me before even _I'd_ figured it out."

Ruby felt quieted by that. In a way, the story Yang had gone through wasn't that much different to Ruby's own, a shared struggle against society, and yet, they'd come at it so differently. By the time she was a teenager, Yang could out-box, out-wrestle, out-shoot, and out-ride any of the boys back home. She was a wild one, and she'd gotten away with a lot of it because, well, dad was kind of a wild one himself. But one day, he'd sat Yang down and asked her, "Are you ever gonna settle down? Cause you ain't liable to be getting a husband this way."

And Yang had laughed. Just… laughed, laughed the way she always did at anything in her way, and said that settling down and getting married was what everyone else did, and that she'd find her own way to do things. And then dad… didn't say anything. Just nodded. Maybe it wasn't the answer he wanted, but he'd accepted it as an answer.

And Ruby, still just a kid then, had watched the whole thing and thought that was just another proof of Yang's incredible-ness. That she could just do whatever she wanted, like all the rules, all the inescapable fears that defined Ruby's life, just didn't count.

But with everything she'd seen… why was Ruby still always so afraid?

She shook that thought from her mind. She had time enough to go back to beating herself up later, she had to deal with her sister now. But the moment had passed into silence, and Ruby simply had nothing to say—greatest writer alive, and it felt like she hadn't said a real word in days.

And so Yang took the initiative. "So…" and Ruby could feel the question coming like a tidal wave, "What's his name?"

She scowled at Yang. "What, do you think all this is just about a _boy? _I'm not 15, Yang."

"Then what _is _it about?"

"…it's not about a boy," she sulked.

"One, yes, it obviously is," Yang held counted off on her fingers, "and two, it's not really 'just' a boy, is it? Yeah, you're not 15. So he's got to mean a _hell _of a lot to you to leave you like this. May have been out of your life for a while, but you're still Ruby—you don't open your heart easy or for just anyone."

Ruby folded her arms across her chest. Yang was, wherever she went and whatever Ruby thought of her, still her big sister. And, just like when she was younger, when they still lived together, Ruby knew that there was no way around Yang inserting herself into her business. "Ok," she groused, "Just tell me what you think I should do, then. I'm sure you've had this talk prepared for a while."

"Punch him in his idiot face and tell him he's not doing better than _you,_ and-"

She cut her off. "I can't _do_ that, Yang! I'm not _you_, I can't do what _you'd _do!"

"And what's your plan? Hide from him that you're a woman at all until, what, you give up on him?" Yang looked at her, gravely, with a hint of frustration. "Rubes, the longer you keep up this disguise, the worse it's going to be. It he shoots you down, at least you can move on!"

"It's not worth it."

"Are you _kidding _me?" she shot back, pointing to Ruby's current state.

"He already has someone!" _Pyrrha, _who stood, invincible, against everything Ruby quailed against.

Yang scoffed. "Never been a problem for me, honestly. Blake's ex was our higher up, and I still went after her. He did _not _handle it well, I can tell you that. I went for her anyway, and _I won_."

"He doesn't love me!" _His face, _the look of terror and pain etched across it.

"That's just him being stupid—you're _amazing_, Ruby. And I'm your sister, so I have a _huge_ bias for saying the opposite."

"There's someone else!" _Weiss, _who bore so much she didn't deserve, and deserved so much better than her.

"You already mentioned that, and I-"

"_I _have someone else!" she spat.

"Oh." She slumped back in her chair. "Damn, Rubes, and I thought the _crossdressing_ was a big change for you. And this other guy, what's his-"

"Her."

"Oh. _Oh!_" she realized the meaning, "And she thinks you're a man, so…" Ruby nodded, miserably. Yang stifled a chuckle, but Ruby wasn't offended. Her situation was ridiculous. She _deserved_ to be laughed at. "Well… it's not like you're the first person who decided to wear trousers over dresses. Have to assume this ain't the first time it's caused some confusion with the ladies. Just tell _her, _then, see what she likes and if she's game, you can-"

"But that's not what I want!"

And then Yang looked at her, with a slow, probing look, before saying, "Well… what do you want?"

Ruby stared at her sister. "I… I want to be a playwright. A-and I want Jaune. And I…" her voice choked in her throat. What _did_ she want, really?

But Yang wasn't giving her time to contemplate. "Alright, so, Jaune and the theatre, that narrows-"

"But, Yang," she protested, "I _don't_ want Weiss to get hurt, and I don't want to lose anyone and there's no way I can…" She trailed off as she saw a look in Yang's eye. A haunted, sorrowful look that Ruby wasn't sure she'd ever seen with her sister.

"Sometimes, what we want, what we love, it's just not going to work out where we get everything…"

"What do you know about that?" she seethed, "You've always just taken what you want, no matter who got-"

And then Yang _exploded._ "Do you think I _wanted_ to leave you and Dad behind? Do you think that was _easy?_"

Ruby sat back at that, stunned. There were tears in Yang's eyes, her voice was suddenly hoarse and pained and honest. She'd always… Yang never said anything about it before she left, she always felt that she just… she just didn't have time for them.

"Leaving home, leaving _you_ behind? It _hurt_. More than anything—more than getting _shot _ever did. It still hurts, even now, but… I couldn't… I needed to leave Patch. I didn't have a future there, and every day I spent, I could feel more and more of my life slipping away. But I knew I couldn't get you and Dad to leave with me. I had to make a choice. I _had_ to."

"And you couldn't have _told _me?"

"I… couldn't," she admitted, quietly, "I thought it was easier for you, this way, you could just…"

And now it was Ruby's turn to explode. "Just what! Hate you? Do you think it was easier if I hated you?" Now there were tears in her eyes, as all the years of pain and anger spilled out. "It wasn't! You're my _sister_, Yang! Even if you left, even if I hated you for leaving, you were _still_ my sister!"

"I know I made the wrong choice!" she protested, "But I didn't _want_ to hurt you, I-"

"But you did! Whatever you wanted," she sobbed, "you _did!"_

"Then realize what you're doing to Jaune and this other girl! Either decision you make, whatever you choose, you're going to hurt someone! It sucks! I know! Life sucks! But you've got to decide what you want and _tell them why_. If they love you…" her voice grew even hoarser, as though this was a desperate belief more than a fact, "they'll forgive you for it. Eventually, they'll forgive you."

She bowed her head, silently, and Ruby did as well. Like a silent prayer, like the grace their father used to try to get them to say before meals.

"Yang…" she broke the silence. She had to. "Leaving Patch… did you find what you were looking for?"

Yang looked up, her eyes red and strained. "I… I think I did, yeah."

"Was it Blake?"

"Yeah, but… it wasn't just that. I… and I can't believe this is something _I'm _about to say, but… I believe in the Cause, Ruby. I really do. From what I've seen and, well," she chuckled, "Blake's just… got a way of making you a believer, and she and I have talked about this a _lot._"

Ruby sat in her unease, unwilling to leave one question unanswered. "I'm really happy for you, for both of you," she started softly, "but will you… could you come back? Could I have my sister again?"

She'd known that look before. A look she'd worn so many times, the look of pained hopelessness, the look that knew there was no future down the path she so dearly desired.

"I… I'd want to. When I first heard your name from Blake, it was like something… I had to keep myself from heading to Vale myself. And you're… you're living your dream. You're work's on the stage, Rubes! Your stories aren't just hidden in a notebook under your bed. And that's… so incredible, just so incredible. But if I could come back into your life, for real… I couldn't just do it by half. And if I got careless, and people learned about you and me…" she let her voice trail off, but her meaning was clear.

Yang was her sister. Her beloved older sister, the fearless girl who let nothing stand in her way, who amazed and inspired Ruby to push herself out into the world. That Yang had been the reason she'd found the courage to leave Patch, following in her footsteps.

Yang was a militant. Ruby knew what her money went to, buying weapons for Blake and Yang to rob trains, liberate their comrades from prisons, and while she wouldn't ask Yang if she'd had a hand in any bombings, she knew the answer.

The one could not be there without the other. She had to make a choice, and her choice was for her cause first and her sister second. And it hurt. It hurt her, dearly. But no matter what life Yang chose for herself, she was still her sister. And so Ruby got up from her chair, walked to her big sister, and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. "I love you, Yang," she choked.

"I love you too, Rubes," she whispered. "You just gotta be brave."

And they held each other in a silent house for a little while, together.

* * *

Jaune Arc was a coward.

He knew this. Some days, he fooled himself, said that any man who could stand in front of a thousand people and risk their withering judgment couldn't be a coward. Anyone who risked what he had, who worked his way up from the bottom in the riskiest career of them all—that person had to be brave. Again and again, he told himself that he wasn't the trembling boy whose throat closed up and skin turned pale at auditions, not anymore.

He always knew that was a lie.

What man but a coward would leave his closest friend behind, drunk, confused, and afraid and send him spiraling into a depression. Rory, he knew, had disappeared into his home, a pile of messages left at his door. If he had been brave, he would have stayed with him, or, at the least, gone to check on him by now. Knocked the door down to be at his side, and damn all the consequences! But he couldn't face him, couldn't shake the thought he'd been caught. And now, from the message in his hand, he knew they had been.

He was the most wretched kind of coward in the world: the kind who abandoned a friend in their time of need.

But even in his worst days, he knew he was an actor as much as he was a coward. And he could slip the mask back on, take on the role and strut into Ms. Fall's office with all the bravado of a true hero. There was no time for pleasantries as he pushed past her secretary, threw open the door, and struck a pose of noble disdain. "Try anything and we'll sue for libel."

But it failed. His voice was rough and unsteady. From the message he received, he knew that she'd seen them, somehow. If she was tailing them with spies or just got lucky, she'd seen them. She really had them, this time. He didn't feel like a hero and he knew he didn't seem a hero. He was just a poncy boy who thought a strut made him a man. He could read the review on Cinder Fall's face.

Her grin was wide and predatory. "That would give us legal opportunity to investigate you and Mr. Rose's character, such as, say, his finances. Figure out if some organization might be, oh, could you imagine, _blackmailing_ him over his secret…"

Jaune tensed at this. Cinder knew how to dig—and Jaune knew she already had some indications of the connection Rory had to the Fang, a connection he knew all to well was _real_. And nobody in this city was truly clean, even when you thought you knew everything. And he, even now, knew nothing about where Rory came from, what he might be running from. The more Cinder dug, inevitably, the more risk Rory was in. So Jaune switched tactics—if bluster wouldn't work, he'd try business. Admit nothing, offer a deal. That was the language she spoke, after all. "Alright, listen, we do not need the _negativity _right now, and we certainly don't need a legal matter, not when we're so close to putting the show together. I can offer a few favors, complimentary tickets at the very least, and, perhaps, I could negotiate a generous donation from one of our investors to your establishment?"

But now she really smirked. "This is a big story, Mr. Arc. I don't think you can just pay your way out of this one…" Dammit all, she knew she had them.

But he had to try _something_. "I can talk to Pyrrha, we can pull together-"

"You'd put _her_ through that? Get on your hands and knees and beg _her_ to help cover up _this_ story?" she looked at him with a look of actual incredulousness. Curse it; even the _blackmailer_ was judging his wandering heart! "But even if that duchess who's been doting on your partner opened her purse—and I'm quite interested to hear what she knows of all this—I wouldn't take the money. I'm a journalist, Mr. Arc. Not a blackmailer. This story is too valuable, too important, for me to simply bury."

Panicked as he was, Jaune was starting to put together the math of the situation. She didn't want money. She wanted to move papers. She wanted a story. That was all there was to it. And he could manage a story. He could redirect the truth away from Rory. _He had a way._ "Lie Ren," he croaked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lie Ren. You want a story, you want… scandal. If you make it clear, if you can _guarantee_ me that you report that Rory is innocent of _everything_, that he was the victim of… my interest… there are letters. You could… happen to find them, and…"

"My, my," she purred, "You really _do_ love him, don't you?"

"You…" he looked at her with pure hatred. "Do you have no _heart?_ You are an _evil_ woman! A monster!"

"And you're a sodomite," she shot back, coolly. "We're not, the either of us, a popular bunch in this society, but I make the most of it, as did you. Had you not been so _careless_, we'd have no conflict. We've always had a business relationship, Jaune. This is no different from any other deal we've cut."

He stared at her, as though he couldn't accept the reality he knew to be true. He could never say that he hadn't been warned. That this was a world that devoured men like him, that there were a hundred eyes watching for deviance from the norm. Ren had told him, in those heady days, that the price of love was death. That freedom only came to those willing to die.

And so he gave a slight nod, an indication that he would cut a deal.

Cinder stared back, seeming to draw the moment into an eternity, and then returned the nod. Rory, at least, was safe. "Well, I'm a woman of my word: if we were to… discover documentation of a sordid relationship in your past, I suppose we'd have to report on it for the good of the community." Her eyes seemed to burn a brand on his skin. "Fortunately for you, it's unlikely to be enough for prosecution, so long as you've kept your nose clean elsewhere. And, of course, we'd leave your… associate smelling, well," she chuckled, "like roses. That poor, innocent boy… that you would seek to debauch and destroy him. Tsk, tsk, tsk. It _is_ quite a story," her eyes flashed with a primal cruelty, "wouldn't you think?"

He looked down. Defeated and wretched and broken, but he had achieved the one thing that mattered, the one thing he truly wanted. He'd saved Rory. He'd saved the show. He'd burn for it in the papers, he would see firsthand every cruelty this city had, every savage retaliation Ren had warned him of, but he'd have done his duty.

Even if it cost him everything.


End file.
